


im so tired of this body

by kusege



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Body Modification, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Genderfluid Character, It’s in passing but you know stay safe out there, Mention - Freeform, No beta reader no editing we die like men, Period-Typical Sexism, She just cuts her hair but still, Temporary Character Death, just mentioned but, unsafe binding, yes this is a vent what about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kusege/pseuds/kusege
Summary: you ever just wish that people didn’t know what biological sex you areit’s hard being a genderfluid he him lesbian when you don’t know what most of those words mean and live in the wilderness constantly terrified of your own death and also it’s the 1920s
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	im so tired of this body

There’s never much time for self-reflection in the Constant, what with constantly fighting for your life and trying to feed yourself and just generally struggling to stay alive. At the same time, though, there’s too much time for self-reflection, too many long, sleepless, empty nights with only eyes and breaths and your own heartbeat for company. 

It’s been too long since she had to lie, Winona thinks, staring at nothing.

She was used to it, accepted it- hell, she’d almost liked it. Having to pass herself off as a man to get the work she wanted was stressful, terrifying, since she could have been jailed or killed for it. There was always the fear of being suspected, walked in on when changing, her voice not being deep enough. She’d done it a few more times than were strictly necessary in the past, if she had to be honest.

Something about it was just… nice.

There’s nothing wrong with her body. She tells herself that over and over and over, that her natural lack of a waist is okay, that refusing to wear the corsets her mother gave her wasn’t a mistake, but tonight the line is falling the other way. She’s hating everything even vaguely feminine about it- her breasts, as small as they are, feel disgusting, wrong, like little parasites that make her nauseous. Could she get away with tying them down? Breathing was always harder when she did, but maybe it would be worth it, to get rid of this feeling.

She shouldn’t be feeling this way. She has more important things to worry about.

But it felt so  _ nice _ to be treated as a man, however difficult it was to act as one around other men. It was incredible to finally be able to flirt without layers upon layers of questions and codes, uncertain whether this was a friendship or not. There was no middle ground when she wasn’t herself.

This isn’t the time to think about it. She can’t stop thinking about it. She has to do something, or else she’s going to throw up, and that’s a waste, and then she’ll spend forever thinking about it and die stupidly and drag everyone else down with her.

She’ll never get to lie to these people. They know her as who she is, not as some weird, disturbed, impression of who she wants to be. She can’t try and tell them she’s a man. They know she isn’t. At best, they’ll humor her. At worst, they’ll reject the notion outright.

Gen had mistaken her for a man when they first met, and for some reason, she’d wanted to cry. A week later, that interaction had made her feel sick. Now, she’s wishing more than anything that she could go back to then. That might just be missing Gen, though.

Why can’t her body decide what it wants?

Winona sits there, and stares, and thinks, brain spinning incessantly but incapable of really producing a thought, just constantly making noise. She needs to shut it up. She’s gonna look like a man if it’s the last thing she does.

Wilson’s out doing some inane experiment with tallbirds that is probably going to get him killed. His razor is unattended. Winona takes off her bandanna and slips into his things and pulls it out and starts shaving her own head, completely blind.

It feels good while she’s doing it. Freeing, triumphant, like she’s finally getting what she wants. The hairs scatter around the ground, on her shoulders, to be blown away by the wind. She almost laughs out loud, but no, that’d wake someone up. She settles for giggling.

It isn’t until she’s checking her reflection in the blade of the razor that she realizes what she’s done.

She cut her hair. She  _ loves _ her hair. Now, she won’t be able to run her fingers through it when she’s nervous. Now, she won’t be able to tug on it to calm herself down. It’s fine, hair grows back, she’ll be back to normal in no time, if not by the next time she dies. It’s fine. It’s not fine.

Winona sobs and sobs and sobs, ties her bandana back on, as if it can hide anything. She crawls into her tent, pulls her straw roll over her head, and sobs some more.

Maybe things will be okay tomorrow. Maybe things won’t hurt so bad tomorrow.

Maybe things will be worse.

Winona doesn’t know.


End file.
